


From The Ashes of Disaster

by RRJG



Category: Batman (1966), Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, but only in the beginning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2020-01-24 10:36:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18569683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RRJG/pseuds/RRJG
Summary: The tale of a boy who grew from a tragic story to a young hero.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first time posting a story. I don't own any recognizable characters and I'm not making any money by using said characters. I use italics to show when a person is thinking something but I also use them to emphasize certain words. I'm bad at keeping people in character so sorry if they are not their usual canon selves. Thanks for reading!

            The fall seemed to take forever, yet it was over before he could even blink.  Nine-year-old Dick Grayson watched his parents’ bodies hit the floor and begin painting red pictures on the dirt.  He was frozen, but he didn’t understand why.  Why wasn’t he down there drawing with them?

            Screams assaulted his ears and Dick realized that they were coming from him.  That was something else he didn’t understand.  He should be climbing down the ladder to join them, not screaming from thirty feet above them.  Why was he still on the platform?

            He was going to be in so much trouble.  The first rule of the Flying Graysons: never go up on the platform by yourself.  _Ever._   Yet here he was.  But nobody was even looking at him; maybe he could get down before anyone noticed that he was breaking the rule.

            Dick’s eyes shifted from the scene on the floor when he noticed movement to his right.  A single man was standing several feet away from the crowd around his parents.  He was staring up at the young aerialist with some sort of expression that Dick didn’t recognize.

            Shrugging off the weird look on the stranger’s face, the nine-year-old moved to the ladder and began the long climb down.  He suddenly realized that it was completely silent.  This was Haly’s Circus – it was _never_ silent.

            Dick reached the ground and turned around.  Now _everybody_ was staring at him, not just the stranger, and it made him nervous.  They all looked so…sad.

            He walked toward the crowd and people immediately moved out of his way.  The boy abruptly stopped: his parents weren’t using red paint, they were _bleeding_.  And the angles of their arms and legs, it was all wrong.  Something was horribly wrong and Dick was now rooted to his spot.

            The people around him began crying and Mr. Haly walked toward him.  Dick’s view of his parents was blocked and he suddenly needed to be near them.  But there were bodies crowding around him and hands reaching out to him.  Shaking off the touch of a woman on his right, the boy shoved his way through the rest of the people until he reached a scene that he would remember for the rest of his life.

            His dad was lying on his back with one leg bent the wrong way and the other with sharp points of white bone sticking out.  The man’s right arm was underneath him and his left was stretched out to the side, under the neck of Dick’s mom.

            She had landed on her right side.  Her left leg was curled behind her and her right was so twisted that her knee was facing the wrong way.  One arm was outstretched toward Dick’s dad, while the other lay across the top of her head.

            Both sets of eyes were wide open but there was no light shining in them.  Dick knelt down between them and quietly searched each pair of eyes, hoping to see laughter or happiness.  Because this…this was all a joke.  It was a stupid prank, one that nobody should ever pull, and yet here they were.  The boy wondered who had put them up to it and, most of all, why they were still participating in it.

            “Okay,” the nine-year-old whispered, “you got me.  Ha ha, you tricked me.”

            Neither parent reacted and Dick was suddenly very, _very_ worried.

            “You can wake up now,” he stated loudly, panic skirting around the edges of the words.

            Again he received no reaction and the panic filled his entire body.

            “ _WAKE UP!_ ” he demanded.

            The sound of sobbing came from behind him but he ignored it.  His parents were being really mean right now, they had never done anything like this to him.  They should be sitting up, laughing and apologizing for scaring him.  But…they weren’t moving.  And, he realized, they weren’t even breathing.

            “Nononononononononononono,” Dick moaned softly.  _“NO! NO! NO!”_ he screamed.  “ _Wake up!  Don’t do this to me!  Wake up right now or I’ll…I’ll run away!_ ”

            That would do it; his parents would never want him to run away.

            “I’m sorry, Dick,” Mr. Haly whispered as he crouched beside the boy.

            Dick stared up at him, his light-blue eyes glazing over as his mind refused to accept the situation.  He felt strong arms lift him up and he automatically curled into the warm, familiar chest.  The nine-year-old began hearing sounds that he knew were words.  However, he couldn’t connect the letters together so nothing was making any sense.

            “He has to come with us.”

            It was a woman’s voice, he could tell that much.  Dick felt the firm grip around his body tighten.

            “His home is here.”

            “Not anymore.  His parents died in Gotham City, he is now our responsibility.”

            “He has people who love him; we are family.”

            “Regardless of what you _feel_ you are, the boy has to have a legal guardian.  And until you can show me some paperwork stating that you, or anyone else here, is his guardian, he comes with me.”

            A soft hand grabbed Dick’s arm and he released a choking sob.

            “I’m sorry, Mr. Haly.  My name is James Gordon, Police Commissioner.  I’m here to escort the child to a state facility.  I wish we could do it your way but I can’t change the laws.  I truly am sorry, sir.”

            “Just give him the night with us.”

            “And have you spirit him away?!  No, certainly not!  He comes with me now or the commissioner here will take you to headquarters.  You and the rest of your lot.”

            At that, Dick lifted his head and stared at the lady with the angry expression.

            “Are we going to jail?” the boy whispered.

            “No, son, nobody’s taking you to jail,” Mr. Haly stated softly.

            The man’s expression went from hard to gentle when he looked down at the small boy snuggled in his arms.

            “Don’t lie to him,” the woman snapped.

            Mr. Haly glared at her, both fury and confusion in his eyes.

            “What is _that_ supposed to mean?” he growled.

            “We have no room for extras in any of our group homes or orphanages right now.  I have to temporarily place him in a juvenile detention center.”

            _“WHAT?!_ ”

            The exclamation came from the commissioner, Mr. Haly and some voice that Dick didn’t recognize.

            “If there’s no room, why can’t you leave him with his circus family, Miss Jameson?” Commissioner Gordon asked.

            “It’s the law, Commissioner, and you know that,” she nearly snarled.

            “Isn’t that a…a jail for, um, kids?” Dick whispered again, his voice full of fear.

            His already tight grip on the shirt of Mr. Haly suddenly became stronger and he turned his head back to the man’s chest.  He really didn’t want to go to jail.  Mean people went to jail and he didn’t think he had done anything as bad as those people.

            “Well, yes,” the woman stated.  Her voice softened slightly and she continued, “But you’ll only be there for a night or two.  There’s nothing to worry about.”

            “Where will he sleep?” a gruff voice, the one Dick didn’t recognize, asked.  “Surely you’re not going to put him in a cell.”

            “You don’t really have anything to do with this matter, _Bruce_ ,” the lady declared snidely.  “So I don’t know why you’re even here.”

            “Please answer the question, Miss Jameson,” Commissioner Gordon stated.

            Heaving a sigh of irritation, she replied, “The only place to sleep in a juvenile detention center is on a bed – or the floor, if he wants to – in a cell.”

            “But he hasn’t done anything wrong!” Bruce Wayne growled.

            Dick sensed a strong presence next to him and, for some reason, felt slightly less fearful.  There was a long stretch of silence.  If Dick had been looking, he would have seen a haughty scowl on the face of Miss Jameson, a surprised and worried expression on Mr. Haly’s face and something close to a death glare from Bruce Wayne.

            “I’ll take him, Jim.  Until they have space, let him stay with me,” the latter man demanded.  “He doesn’t belong in a place like _that_ and he won’t survive the night.”

            The commissioner looked thoughtful while the woman rolled her eyes.

            “You have no claims to him, Bruce,” she sneered.  “You probably don’t even know his name.  The only person you care about is _you_.”

            Bruce really wanted to take out his frustration on somebody but that would definitely hurt his case.

            “His name,” the man started and realized he was still growling.  Clearing his throat and shoving the anger into the back of his mind, Bruce tried again.

            “His name is Richard John Grayson.  He is the nine-year-old son of John and Mary Grayson and one-third of the family of acrobatic aerialists known as The Flying Graysons.”

            There was another long pause and Dick finally lifted his head.  The man standing next to Mr. Haly was tall and muscular with dark hair and angry eyes.  They were dark-blue, the nine-year-old noticed when the man looked at him.  And his eyes, as soon as they connected with Dick’s own, went from angry to concerned.

            Bruce glanced at the small child, whose eyes were full of dread.  He was only nine, had just lost both his parents less than fifteen minutes ago, and was about to be ripped away from everything he knew and left in a detention center until who-knows-when.  The man’s gaze softened, and he decided to fight for the young orphan.

            “Come on, Jim,” Bruce turned to the commissioner.  “He’ll be safe with me.  You know you can’t say the same thing about the center.”

            “He makes a valid point, Miss Jameson,” Commissioner Gordon stated.  “I don’t believe that the compassionate citizens of Gotham City would want a newly-orphaned child to be thrown in with kids who are in the detention center for a legitimate reason.”

            “The _legitimate_ reason here, _Commissioner_ , is the fact that we have no space anywhere else.  Now do your job and take the kid out of the circus owner’s arms.”

            Turning to Bruce, the commissioner stated, “You can take him tonight, Bruce.  I’ll talk to the mayor in the morning and get permission for you to keep him until a room opens up in a group home or orphanage.”

            “I want to stay here,” Dick said as he burst into tears.  “Why can’t I stay here?”

            “It’s the law, son,” Mr. Haly answered softly.  “But we will fight to get you back, okay?  We won’t give up, I promise.”

            “O…okay,” the boy whimpered.

            “But you have to let go, Dick,” the man continued.  “Mr. Wayne is a nice man and he’s going to let you stay with him tonight.  But you have to let go.”

            Dick began to sob but released his tight hold on the rough shirt of Mr. Haly.  The man gently held him out to Bruce, who stared at the scene in confusion.

            “Bruce?  I don’t think he’s going to be able to walk,” the commissioner commented.  “You’re going to have to carry him.”

            “Oh, right,” Bruce replied.  He hesitantly held out his arms and accepted the small bundle of trembling flesh.

            Dick immediately curled into the strong chest and grabbed on to Bruce Wayne’s expensive suitcoat.  His sobs turned into soft cries and were soon muffled by the man’s shirt.

            “This is ridiculous,” the woman muttered.  “I’m having a talk with the mayor myself tomorrow, Commissioner, and you can bet that I will find a way to keep this poor child out of the house of an arrogant man who thinks of nobody but himself.”

            Bruce was aching to say something but the look he received from Jim Gordon silenced him before he even started.  The meaning was obvious:

            _Don’t jeopardize this._

            So, instead of giving the social worker a giant piece of his furious mind, Bruce Wayne turned around and left the tent.  Three minutes later he was approaching his limousine, where his faithful butler, Alfred, was patiently waiting.

            “I picked up a little something extra, Alfred,” he stated when he saw the surprised expression on the older man’s face.  “I’ll explain on the way home.”

            Erasing the surprise off his face, the butler nodded politely and opened the car door.  As the younger man climbed in, Alfred received a glimpse of a small head of dark hair and heard quiet sniffling.  His eyes widened imperceptibly.

            _This is going to be an interesting story._

* * *

            Bruce didn’t know how to handle the situation.  Should he make small talk?  What would they talk about?  How about those Gotham Knights?  The boy probably didn’t even know anything about the Knights.

            Fortunately for him, Dick fell asleep almost instantly.  Sighing gratefully, the millionaire gently laid him on the seat as Alfred climbed into the vehicle.

            The butler was patient, staying silent as he drove through the streets of Gotham City.  Bruce would tell him sooner or later and Alfred was used to waiting for his charge to decide how to deal with whatever was happening.

            “He’s staying with us, Alfred, for an indeterminate amount of time.”

            “If I may, sir, who is he?”

            “He’s part of The Flying Graysons, the trapeze family I was telling you about earlier.”

            There was a long pause, broken only by a nearly inaudible sigh.  Alfred recognized that sound – Bruce was feeling indecisive about something.

            “His parents fell, Alfred, they died right in front of him.” 

            The millionaire was whispering and the sentence was full of grief.

            “Oh, dear,” the butler murmured, glancing at his charge in the rearview mirror.

            Bruce was staring down at the boy and, to Alfred’s surprise, gently running a hand through the dark hair.

            “Social services was going to put him in a juvenile detention center but I convinced Jim Gordon to let me take him for the night.”

            “A detention center, Master Bruce?!” Alfred exclaimed, shocked at the revelation.  “But he’s done nothing wrong!”

            “It was Susan Jameson.  She said there’s no room anywhere else; it was her only option.  I presented an alternative and she was furious.”

            “Ah,” the butler stated, understanding in his eyes.

            Miss Jameson had recently been Bruce’s date to a social gathering.  And Bruce Wayne usually didn’t go on second dates.  Obviously, the woman was holding a grudge.

            “Jim’s going to talk to the mayor in the morning and try to get permission for Dick to stay with us until there’s space somewhere else.  Of course, Susan is also going to speak to the mayor.  And she already wants him out of my house.  She’s a social worker!  Shouldn’t she want what’s best for him?  Shouldn’t she want him to be _safe_?!”

            The last word was shouted.  Dick stirred but didn’t wake up.

            “In my opinion, Master Bruce, he should be with his circus family, not on his way to a stranger’s house.”

            “I agree but she was adamant about him leaving.  What I don’t understand is why she would still want to take him even though the system is overflowing!  Why can’t he just stay with people that he grew up with, people who love him?!”

            “I wish I could answer that question, sir.  But I most definitely prefer him to be coming home with us instead of being shipped off to a place where he probably won’t survive for more than a day.”

            “If that,” Bruce grumbled.  “It’s just so unfair, Alfred, and you know how I feel about injustice.”

            “Of course I do, Master Bruce.  And we are now home.  Why don’t you carry him inside while I go prepare a room for him.” 

            It was a statement, not a question, but the millionaire wasn’t offended.  Alfred was much more capable than Bruce Wayne at handling something like this.  Although something ‘like this’ had never happened at Wayne Manor.

            Bruce suddenly noticed that Alfred was gone.  The front door was open and he could just see the butler climbing the stairs.  Shocked at the man’s speed, the millionaire carefully picked up the child and got out of the car.  Gently situating the boy in his arms, Bruce Wayne carried Dick Grayson into Wayne Manor for the first, but certainly not last, time. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning - non-graphic descriptions of child abuse (mostly bruises)

**Three months later:**

            To almost everyone, the fact that young Dick Grayson was still in the household of millionaire Bruce Wayne was shocking.  To Alfred, however, it was a blessing.  Despite everything that had happened to him, Dick was almost always cheerful.  He had brought light into the lives of one man who lived in the dark and another who had difficulty bringing the first man out of the shadows.

            The boy didn’t know it, of course, but Batman wasn’t as harsh when taking down criminals and villains now.  Instead of beating them to a pulp and telling Commissioner Gordon when they were ready for pickup, he would merely knock them out and, sometimes, haul them down to Headquarters himself.

            Dick was an easy-going child who loved to make people laugh.  He was smart and witty and very, _very_ active.  There wasn’t a room on the ground floor that didn’t have an ‘assigned’ trick – one that the nine-year-old _had_ to do every time he entered that specific room.

            Bruce had been forced to snatch the boy out of the air several times: the day he climbed on the chandelier, got stuck and flipped down anyway; the night he tried to use the stair bannister as a ski jump; and the morning he had tumbled through the hall in socks, slipped because he couldn’t get traction, and under-rotated his double backflip so badly that he would have crushed his face on the white marble of the floor.  Just yesterday Dick had decided that the ladder in the library was unnecessary, climbed his way up the shelves like a monkey, lost his footing and nearly cracked his head open on the ladder that he should have used in the first place.

            Of course, there were good days and bad days.  Mondays were always bad – they had died on a Monday.  Fridays were always good – the day Bruce had been granted legal guardianship was a Friday.  But nights, those were a different story.

            Batman would come home from patrol and, a quick shower later, Bruce would exit the study and walk up the stairs.  Every night he tip-toed past Dick’s door and into his own room, hoping his ward would be asleep.  But every night, like clockwork, the nine-year-old would start screaming in terror.  The man would either just be falling asleep or just climbing into bed when the screams began.  He always instantly jumped out of bed and raced to the room next door, gathering the child in his arms and patiently waiting for the nightmare to stop and the boy to calm down.

            There were nights when Dick would be able to go back to sleep but most nights were spent sitting on his guardian’s lap, trembling and crying softly.  Every night the boy would apologize for waking up the millionaire, and every night the man would reply that there was no need to apologize for something the child couldn’t control.

            Bruce usually fell asleep sitting on a chair in his young ward’s room.  Dick never noticed, or at least he never said anything about it.  He was too busy curling into the man’s chest and holding on to his shirt as if his very life depended on it.

            That was how Alfred found them almost every morning.  Dick would lift his head, his light-blue eyes weary and tear tracks evident on his small cheeks.  Bruce, feeling the movement, would immediately open his eyes, which looked just as tired as the ones of the child sitting on his lap.

            Alfred was concerned about both of them.  Bruce was going to get sick if he kept pushing himself like this – head of Wayne Enterprises with a multitude of meetings every day, Batman patrolling Gotham City until one or two in the morning and then having to sleep in a chair so his young ward would feel safe.  And Dick, going to school with the whites of his eyes streaked with red lines and so tired that Bruce had received several notes about the boy not paying attention in class.

            But the nine-year-old wasn’t having any trouble keeping up.  He was extremely intelligent and usually understood whatever he was being taught the first time it was explained to him.  The notes were, therefore, just informational.  Every message was accompanied by a post script: not affecting his work, his behavior or his classmates.

            His favorite time of day was after school and before dinner.  The bus would drop him off at Wayne Manor and Dick would race up the long walk and burst through the front door.  Alfred, polite butler that he was, always stood at the entrance to greet the boy.  His reward was an enthusiastic hug and an immediate earful of everything that had happened during the day.

            Dick would quickly do his homework then go directly to the newly furnished room beside the workout gym.  Bruce had set up an acrobat’s dream house.  There was a high bar, two tumble tracks – one with a foam pit for trying new tricks – a climbing rope that went twenty feet in the air and a set of rings.  The man had thought about putting in a trapeze but decided to wait until the boy asked for one.

            After an hour or so, the nine-year-old would end up in the living room, sitting on the royal-blue chair that had the best view of the front door.  Sometimes it was ten minutes, sometimes almost an hour, but eventually Bruce Wayne would walk through that door.  The first place his eyes would go was that chair.  The first thing he almost always saw was the giant grin on his ward’s face and then a little blur would suddenly be throwing itself into his arms.

            Bruce never said anything, but coming home was now _his_ favorite time of the day.  Even on Mondays, the sad days, Dick would be grinning when his guardian entered the house.  And that grin, that brilliant, trusting, youthful smile, would make the millionaire forget whatever troubles the day had thrust upon his shoulders – for a little while, anyway. 

            Then, on a seemingly normal Thursday, something happened.  Dick came home from school and entered the house with his head down.  The usually-enthusiastic hug was a quick squeeze.  He dropped his backpack and immediately went to his favorite chair in the living room.  The nine-year-old pulled his legs into his chest, wrapped his arms around them and rested his forehead on top of his knees.  Alfred, deciding that the boy needed some time to himself, left an afternoon snack on the small table by the chair and retired to the kitchen to prepare dinner.

            Bruce came home late that night and found him still sitting there.  Dick had stayed in the chair, almost completely still, for nearly four hours.  Alfred had done everything he could think of to no avail.  The child didn’t eat the snack, refused to respond to anything and didn’t even acknowledge the fact that his homework had been placed on the living room table.  It was untouched and that in itself was concerning.  He was very studious and demanded perfection from himself.  Not doing homework right away was, in Dick’s eyes, an extreme lack of perfection.

            “Hey, chum, what’s wrong?”

            Crouching in front of the boy, Bruce lightly touched a small but strong arm and attempted to see his ward’s face.  Dick flinched but didn’t pull away.  They stayed that way for several minutes and Bruce began to feel impatience rising in his chest.  His grip on the boy’s arm unintentionally tightened and Dick instantly lifted his head.

            A sigh of relief flew out of the man’s mouth but the relief faded into anger when he discovered the reason for Dick’s self-imposed exile.  A large, purple bruise surrounded the boy’s left eye and there was a thin line of dried blood just under his eyebrow on the same side.

            “Who did this to you?” Bruce growled and Dick shrugged, a touch of fear in his eyes.

            “Name, Dick, I need a name,” he declared, a little more gently.

            The nine-year-old shook his head and his eyes began flitting around the room, landing everywhere except the dark-blue circles of his guardian.

            “I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on,” Bruce stated softly.

            “I’ll get in trouble,” Dick replied quietly, finally looking into the man’s eyes.

            “Why would you get in trouble?”

            Dick shrugged again and dropped his forehead back onto his knees.

            “Did someone threaten you?  Did the person say something worse would happen if you told anybody?”

            A small nod affirmed the question and Bruce’s face grew dark with anger.  Someone had not only _hit_ his boy, that person had also demanded secrecy by threatening the nine-year-old.

            “Who?!” Bruce suddenly shouted and Dick flinched before raising his head.

            “I can’t…please don’t make me,” he whispered as tears welled up in his eyes.

            “I won’t let you get hurt,” the man almost growled again.  “I’ll take care of it, kiddo.”

            “He said…he would… _kill_ you.  Just like my parents!” the boy exclaimed softly as the tears began streaming down his cheeks.  “I can’t…I don’t want you…”

            Bruce clenched his jaw in fury.  If he could just get the name, Batman would be able to visit the kid – and his parents, of course – in order to straighten this out.

            “Who, Dick?  I need the name.”

            “Please…” the boy pleaded.  “I promised!  I can’t break a promise!”

            “You can if the promise was made under duress, kiddo.  And I assure you, that promise was _definitely_ made under duress.”

            “He was so mad,” the nine-year-old said quietly.  “I didn’t do…all I did was answer the question!  Then his face turned red and he told me to see him after class.  I didn’t mean it, I swear!  I was just pointing out a fact that he had missed.  Bruce, _I swear I wasn’t trying to embarrass or humiliate him!_ ”

            “This was a…a teacher?!” Bruce exclaimed in disbelief.

            He received another small nod and abruptly stood up.  A _teacher_ had assaulted a nine-year-old boy and nobody knew about it?!

            “I swear, Bruce, I didn’t mean it!  Please believe me!” 

            “Of course I believe you, kiddo!  What makes you think I wouldn’t?”

            “He said I’m a troublemaker, that I’m only here so you can show how great you are.  How you’re so charitable to take…take in a…a circus freak and that soon you…you won’t want me anymore!”

            The words were mumbled and difficult to understand.  Dick was sobbing.  He didn’t want to believe it but…what if the man was right?  What if Bruce was getting tired of him?

            Bruce was crouching in front of him again.

            “Dick, I will never make you leave.  You aren’t a freak or a troublemaker.  You’re one of the best things that has ever happened to me and I will always want you to stay.  Okay?”

            The light-blue eyes carefully examined the dark-blue ones, searching for any hint of a lie or half-truth.  There was kindness but Dick could see a ring of darkness in his guardian’s expression.

            “Are you…mad at…at me?” he asked timidly as he swiped a hand across his bruised cheek.

            “Of course not, kiddo.  But I need to know who did this.”

            “But what if…he’s so big, Bruce!”

            “Dick,” the millionaire began, “Batman is a personal friend of mine.  I’m pretty sure I can convince him to work this out.”

            The boy’s eyes widened in amazement.

            “You’re friends with _Batman_!”

            Bruce nodded and chuckled quietly when he saw a giant smile erupt on his ward’s face.

            _If he only knew._

            “But what if he’s stronger than even Batman?!  You haven’t seen him, Bruce, he’s like a bodybuilder or something!”

            There was a great deal of fear in Dick’s voice and the smile had disappeared.  Bruce inaudibly sighed.  He really wanted to kill whoever had done this to his boy but, obviously, that was out of the question.

            “Have you ever heard of Batman losing a fight, kiddo?”

            “Well, no, but I haven’t been here for very long.  He probably used to lose a lot, when he was just starting, don’t you think?”

            “No,” Bruce replied, slightly offended but also amused.  “I’ve known him for longer than you’ve been alive.  Yes, he’s been in some trouble, but he always comes out on top.”

            “Always?” the boy stated, his tone outlined with skepticism.

            “Always,” the man replied firmly.  “No matter the villain or criminal, Batman _always_ comes out on top.  Just give me a name and you won’t have to worry about the te…”

            Bruce paused then decided not to group the man into a field of hard-working educators.

            “The criminal,” he finished.

            There was complete silence for several minutes as Dick mulled over everything in his mind.  A seed of doubt was still flourishing, convincing him that if he told Bruce the name of the man who had hit him, his guardian would die.

            “Dick,” Bruce prodded gently.  “Please tell me, chum.”

            The boy took a deep breath and the man tensed with anticipation.

            “Mr., um, no…I…no!”

            “Come on, Dick, you can say it.  Nothing is going to happen to me; Batman will take care of it.  We can’t let this happen again.”

            More silence, broken only by some quiet sniffles and an even quieter grunt of what Bruce could only describe as disbelief.

            “Dick,” he stated loudly as he thought of something.  “Tell me everything.  Has this happened before?  Am I only finding out because he gave you a black eye?”

            The boy refused to look him in the eye again and the rage boiling in Bruce’s blood increased. 

            “How long?  _How long, Dick_?!”

            The second sentence was shouted and the nine-year-old hid his face again.

            “Master Bruce?!  What’s going on?”

            Alfred rushed into the room, causing Dick to lift his head.  The butler gasped in both astonishment and dismay.  From the words he had just heard, somebody had assaulted the boy more than just this once.  But Dick had never shown any signs of distress or pain.

            “I don’t know,” the child whispered guiltily.  “A month?”

            Bruce squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath.  This man had been hitting Dick for _a month_ and the boy had somehow kept everything to himself!

            Bruce opened his eyes and Dick suddenly stood up.  It was his turn to take a deep breath and neither man missed the tiny wince.

            “Please don’t be mad at me,” he begged before lifting his shirt.

            The boy’s entire torso was full of bruises, some fading away, some obviously new.  Bruce noticed a rib moving every time Dick took a breath and again wondered how his ward had been able to hide this.

            “Master Dick!” Alfred exclaimed sympathetically.  “Why didn’t you tell us?”

            “Later, Alfred.  I’ll explain everything later,” Bruce replied as Dick lowered his shirt.

            But then he took it off completely and Batman almost exploded out of Bruce’s body.

            Finger-shaped bruises, again both new and old, were all over the boy’s upper arms and shoulders.  He turned around and the men stared at the large welts all over Dick’s back.

            “Wh…what did he use?”

            Bruce’s voice was strangled and he nearly choked on the words.

            There was a little shrug in response and then a quiet, “Just from pushing me against the desks.  He didn’t _use_ anything, like a belt or something, if that’s what you mean.”

            “Why, young sir?”

            “He just doesn’t like me, I guess.  I don’t mean to make him mad, it just happens.  I don’t know what it is that I’m doing.  I’ve tried lots of stuff: looking at him, not looking at him, answering questions, not answering questions, sitting in the back, sitting in the front, taking meticulous notes, not taking any notes at all.  I don’t know what I’m doing to make him so mad.”

            “No, Dick,” Bruce nearly snarled.  “This is not your fault.  You’re not doing anything wrong, okay?”

            “Well, he said it is.  He said I’m a troublemaker and troublemakers need discipline.  He said since you don’t give it to me, he has to.  And if I tell you, he’ll make me watch you die.”

            “Oh, my word,” Alfred gasped quietly.

            Bruce had gone from crouching to sitting in the chair Dick had abandoned.  Gently, he grabbed Dick’s right hand and pulled him onto his lap.

            “It won’t happen, kiddo,” he stated softly but confidently.  “Batman is going to take care of this, okay?  I’m not going to die and this guy won’t ever be able to touch you again.  Can you trust me?”

            He received a minute nod so he continued.

            “I need you to tell me the name, Dick.  Batman needs to know so that he can put this criminal in jail.  Please just tell me.”

            The child was crying again, his head leaning against his guardian’s shoulder and the tears sliding onto the man’s expensive shirt.

            “Mr., um, Jerkens,” was the whispered response.  “Sometimes, in my mind, I call him Mr. Jerkface.  I’m sorry, Bruce!”

            The last sentence was much louder than the others and Dick pushed away from his guardian.  He walked over to the fireplace, knelt down and punched the brick as hard as he could.

            “ _Dick!”_ Bruce shouted incredulously.

            “I’m sorry for ruining the pillow!” the boy yelled.  “The pillow broke but I can’t break this!”

            “The pillow, Master Dick!” Alfred exclaimed.  “It was a slight tear that I mended this morning!”

            Bruce was by his ward’s side, cradling the hand that now had blood flowing out of its knuckles.  Alfred quickly left to get supplies.  He returned less than a minute later with a damp towel, a dry towel, antiseptic cream, gauze and medical tape.

            “Dick, why did you…”

            “Because that’s how I let it out!” Dick interrupted, almost growling at his guardian.  “I can’t keep everything inside but I wasn’t allowed to tell you so I’ve been punching stuff but yesterday I tore the pillow and so now I know I can’t use that anymore so I’m just going to use something that I can’t break!”

            Dick was angry; neither Bruce nor Alfred had ever heard this tone and it surprised them.  He sounded almost as angry as a younger version of Batman, although they both knew that the boy’s anger couldn’t even begin to reach the height of the man’s fury.

            _Especially right now._

            That thought strolled through Alfred’s mind when he saw the expression on the millionaire’s face.  Bruce was furious, that was obvious to anyone, but only the butler could detect the rage of Batman flowing inside the man.  But Bruce was being so gentle with Dick, carefully cleaning the boy’s knuckles and swathing them in gauze before pulling his ward into a hug.

            Alfred saw Dick wince at the pressure on his bruises and knew Bruce could feel it.  The millionaire immediately pulled away and stood, pulling Dick up with him.

            “You need some ice, chum,” the man remarked gently.  “Your entire torso needs to be taken care of and…”

            “But isn’t it dinner time?  Alfred’s food is going to get cold!”

            “Are you hungry, Master Dick?”

            There was a short pause and then the boy sadly whispered, “No, not really.”

            “Then dinner can wait,” Bruce declared. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comment, SilentSilhouette! Trigger warning - mentions/short descriptions of bullying.

**Later that night:**

            “I want to kill him!” Batman shouted as he stormed around the Batcave.  “How dare he…and he’s allowed to be a teacher?!  A month, Alfred, how did Dick hide it for a _month_?!”

            “He obviously has a high tolerance for pain, Master Batman.  And, if you were nine, sir, wouldn’t you be scared if your teacher told you that if you said anything he would kill your guardian?  Master Dick is intelligent, but he also trusts the adults he interacts with on a daily basis.  If this man is as big as he says, sir, then Master Dick would have an excellent reason to stay quiet.”

            “But I’m _BATMAN_!  I should have noticed this; how did I not know this?!”

            “Even Batman can overlook things, sir.  The important thing is that we can fix it.”

            “Has the address come up yet?”

            “No, sir.  The Bat-computer has no information on a Mr. Jerkens.”

            “It’s been almost three minutes!” Batman thundered.  “How is there nothing?!”

            “You’re… _Batman_!”

            The quiet exclamation came from behind them and both men turned around in surprise.

            Dick was standing by the Bat-pole, his eyes wide with both shock and excitement.

            “You’re Batman!” he whispered incredulously, almost as if he were talking to himself.

            “Dick, you shouldn’t be down here.”

            “Come on, Master Dick, let’s go back up to bed.”

            “So _that’s_ why I’m not supposed to go in the study,” the boy murmured.  “And you have a fireman pole behind your bookcase!” he declared, as if the men had no idea of its existence.

            “It’s a Bat-pole, Dick, not a fireman’s pole,” Batman grumbled.  “And why were you in the study?”

            “I…well, I decided to show you everything.  I knocked but you didn’t answer so I kept knocking but then I thought something was wrong so I just went in but you weren’t there and your bookcase was closing and I thought maybe you were in some secret room but I didn’t know there would be a _pole that I could slide down_!”

            Two sets of adult eyes widened.  They had heard the entire rambling sentence but one main thing had registered.

            “Everything?!” the men exclaimed at the same time.

            “Sorry,” Dick’s voice had dropped to a whisper.  “I…you were so mad earlier.  I didn’t want to make it worse.”

            “I wasn’t mad at _you_ , kiddo,” Batman stated roughly as images of his ward’s torso rolled through his mind.  “But you should have continued.  I need all the information, Dick, so I can take care of this.”

            Sighing softly, the nine-year-old pulled up his pajama pants and the men discovered why the boy had stopped wearing shorts.  His thighs looked like they had been dipped in a vat of blueberry juice and then carelessly spattered with purple paint.

            “How are your legs worse than your torso?” Batman demanded.

            “Oh, I didn’t mean, these aren’t from _him_ ,” Dick replied.  “Um, I’m just going to go back to bed now.”

            “Dick,” Batman growled, his tone leaving no room for argument.

            Sighing, the boy released his hold on his pants.  He realized, too late, that intending to tell the men everything had been a mistake.  They didn’t need to know that Mr. Jerkens wasn’t the only bully.

            “Sorry,” Dick mumbled as he dropped his eyes to the ground.

            “Master Dick, there is no reason for you to apologize.  Please continue your explanation, young sir.”

            “Well, now he’s mad again and it’s all my fault!  I shouldn’t have come down here.”

            There was a beat of silence and then he added, “This place is really cool, though.”

            “Again, Dick, I’m not mad at you.  Is it another teacher?”

            “Just some kid in my class,” the nine-year-old responded as he lifted his head.  “I don’t know his name so asking that question won’t work.”

            “ _How do you not know his name?!_ ” Batman nearly roared.

            “Master Batman,” Alfred softly cautioned.

            Clenching his jaw in frustration, Batman amended the question.

            “What is he doing to make your legs look like that?” he asked, his tone softer but still overflowing with anger.

            “He just stepped on me, it’s not a big deal,” Dick replied with a shrug.

            Both men raised their eyebrows in disbelief.  Having dark-blue thighs was ‘not a big deal’?

            “So, you were playing and he just came over…?”

            Dick ran a hand through his hair in exasperation.  The thought that this had been a mistake raced through his mind again.

            “Come on, kiddo, spit it out.  What happened?”

            “The first time it was an accident.”

            “The _FIRST TIME_?!”

            Batman wanted to punch something but the only thing close enough was the Bat-computer.

            “Yeah, well, we were in PE,” Dick stated, unconsciously rubbing the back of his neck.  “We were racing, I was winning, I tripped on a rock and he stumbled over me.  He accidentally kicked me and then we were both up and running again.  But then he beat me to the gym, for the first time ever, but only because I couldn’t run full speed.  So then he decided that winning was fun – which it definitely is – but he can’t win unless I’m injured.  Once in a while he just messes around a little but yesterday…”

            “Was more than ‘just a little’,” Batman finished when the boy abruptly stopped talking.  Dick nodded with another sigh.

            “It’s my fault.  I finally beat him even though I was injured.  He wasn’t very happy about it.  His face was as red as a ripe tomato and he yelled that I wasn’t supposed to win because I’m such a wimp when I get hurt.  Which, by the way, I’M NOT!”

            The last phrase was full of irritation and both men knew why it was there.  Dick had a strong aversion to losing at anything.  And, as both men had recently discovered, he had a very high level of pain tolerance.

            “Anyway,” the boy continued, “I reminded him that I had just won but I should have kept my mouth shut.”

            “Master Dick, it is not your fault that this boy cannot contain his anger.”

            Rolling his eyes, Dick replied, “I tend to be sarcastic and sometimes I’m on the wrong side of taunting.  I couldn’t stop myself from saying it, even though I knew it would upset him.  So, like I said, it _is_ my fault.”

            “No, kiddo, it’s not.  True, you probably shouldn’t have said that but his reaction, which I’m sure you’re about to tell us, was completely inappropriate.”

            “I did tell you,” Dick declared, refusing to look at either man.

            “Details, young sir.  Batman wants details.”

            “This is stupid,” the boy muttered.  “I shouldn’t have…just forget it.”

            Batman threw his arms in the air then turned around and punched the table.  The Bat-computer shuddered and Dick’s eyes grew wide.

            “Okay!” he shouted.  “One of his friends was behind me and I didn’t know it and he grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me to the ground and then whats-his-name stomped on my legs and then they just left and I was late back to class because it hurt to walk and that made Mr. Jerkens mad and then today I answered that question and so he was really mad and _I hate school_!  But I actually don’t because I like to learn about things but it’s not as fun when people are mean all the time and I don’t understand _WHY_!”

            The words were flying out of the boy’s mouth, making it difficult for the men to understand them.  His tone, however, was unmistakable.  First it was confusion but that was quickly replaced by anger.  Then it was slightly fearful and, by the time he had ended his rant, all the men heard was misery.

            “And now Mr. Jerkens wants me to come in early on Monday so he can tell me what you’ll be hearing at parent teacher conference on Tuesday.  But I don’t want to because he’s mean and I’m _scared_!”

            “Dick…” Batman began but was immediately interrupted.

            “He’ll kill you,” Dick whispered and the tears began anew.  “He knows everything about you, Bruce!  He knows when you have meetings and he knows when you have to go out of town and he knows when you’re at parties.  He can get to you anytime he wants!”

            The child was on the verge of hyperventilation and could barely get the words out.  Both men were instantly on either side of him, attempting to calm him down and reminding him how to breathe.

            Batman was struggling to contain his rage.  He understood why the kid had reacted that way, and so did Dick, but he was confused about the man.  Why was the teacher picking on _Dick_ , who was so innocent and trusting and…

            “Because you trust him,” Batman whispered, his tone full of fury.  “He has the power because you don’t – won’t – question anything he says or does.”

            “I’m sorry, Br…Batman!  What do you want me to do?  I don’t want to ask him…”

            “ _NO!_ ” Batman roared.

            Dick flinched and took several steps backward.  Batman took a deep breath and channeled the anger into his body, successfully erasing it from his voice.

            “You don’t need to do anything, Dick.  As soon as I get an address, this will get straightened out.  But…do you know why, kiddo?”

            “I’m smarter than him?” the boy questioned softly with a touch of pride in his tone.

            Alfred chuckled and Batman almost smiled.  It was probably true; Dick’s intelligence level was way above average and the man was intimidated.  So, the teacher had become a bully.  A very strong, very threatening, very _frightening_ bully.

            Going down on one knee, Batman motioned to the boy and Dick obediently walked over.

            “Remember I said I’m a personal friend of Batman and that he would take care of it?”

            Dick nodded with a slight grin.

            “So, obviously, Batman is going to take of this, right?”

            Another nod and the grin grew a little brighter.

            “And of course he can take care of whats-his-name, who is just a kid, right?  Whenever something happens to you, good or bad, I need to know, okay?”

            The nod was smaller this time and the grin disappeared.

            “Neither Bruce nor Batman can keep you completely safe unless they know what’s going on in your life.  Please don’t ever hide anything from me again, especially something like this.”

            Dick was silent and still, Batman didn’t even receive a nod.

            “Okay?” the hero prodded gently.

            “If I had known you were Batman,” the boy accused with another small smirk, “I wouldn’t have had to worry about him killing you.  Then I could have told you right away.”

            The faithful butler chuckled again and Batman glanced back to glare at him.

            “That brings up an important point, kiddo.  This,” the hero motioned around the Batcave, “has to be a complete secret.  You can never tell _anyone_ , no matter what.  We would all be in serious danger if anybody were to discover my identity.”

            Dick raised his right hand and solemnly stated, “I will never tell anyone that my amazing guardian is the equally amazing Batman, _no matter what_.”

            “It’s late, Master Dick,” Alfred declared, “and you have school.  Time for bed.”

            “Thanks, Batman,” the boy whispered.  He put his small but strong arms around the muscular torso of the Caped Crusader and squeezed him as hard as he could.

            Before Batman could reciprocate, or even open his mouth to reply, the boy had zipped away into the tunnel that led to the service elevator.

            With an amused and grateful glance at Batman, Alfred turned to follow.

            “Should he stay home?” Batman asked, causing the butler to pause and turn back around.  “He has a black eye, people are bound to ask about it.”

            “Perhaps you’re right, Master Batman,” Alfred responded.  “I will let him sleep in; he definitely needs a good night of sleep.”

            Nodding, Batman turned to the Bat-computer, impatiently waiting for the machine to spit out an address.  Or at least some information about the man who was terrorizing the ward of Bruce Wayne, a millionaire who had several very strong friends in high places.

* * *

**The apartment of Harold Jerkens – two o’clock in the morning:**

            “Wake up,” Batman demanded softly.

            The bedroom window was open and the Caped Crusader had easily entered without a sound.  Jerkens – Jerkface, Batman amended – was fast asleep and snoring loudly.  He refused to wake up to the quiet command so Batman changed his tactic.

            Grabbing the blanket resting on top of the man, the hero ripped it off the bed and whipped it against the wall.  The result was a loud ‘smack’ and Harold Jerkens awoke with a start, only to find the intimidating shadow of the Caped Crusader looming over him.

            “Batman?”

            Harold’s voice was both astonished and relieved.  He didn’t know why Batman was standing in his bedroom but he was grateful that it wasn’t a criminal ready to kill him.

            “Why are you picking on Dick Grayson?” Batman demanded, his voice low but the words full of fury.

            “What?!” Harold exclaimed.  “Who is Dick Grayson?”

            That made Batman pause.  He was expecting a denial of abuse but claiming that he didn’t even know the boy was beyond that.

            “He’s in your class, at Gotham Elementary.”

            “I’m not even a teacher!” Harold stated in disbelief.  “I’m an engineer, at Wayne Enterprises!  You can talk to Evan Smirl, he’s my manager and has access to Mr. Wayne!”

_Evan Smirl_.

            Batman immediately recognized the name.  The only way this man would know that name was if he was in the engineering department of Wayne Enterprises.

            “Someone’s lying,” Batman growled before turning back to the window.  Without another word or even a glance back, the Caped Crusader slid through the opening and raced to the Batmobile.

            Had Dick lied to him or was the teacher calling himself Mr. Jerkens instead of his real name?  Or maybe there was another Jerkens that the Bat-computer had somehow missed.

            Batman suddenly found himself back in the Batcave.  He climbed out of the Batmobile, a tinge of confusion surrounding the fury that was still flowing through his veins.  The Bat-computer received a cursory glance as he strode by – there were no other cards with the name Jerkens.

            Apparently, there was only one way to resolve this issue.  Instead of Dick Grayson on Monday, it would be Batman meeting Mr. Jerkens in his classroom before school started today, Friday.

            He climbed on the Bat-pole, pushed the Compressed Steam Lift button and was quickly returned to his study in Wayne Manor.  Bruce exited, climbed the stairs and carefully pushed Dick’s door open.  The boy was fast asleep, although he was trembling slightly, and the man thought about just going in there now.

            The thought was a fleeting one, however.  Bruce also needed a restful night of sleep; maybe his ward would have a rare night of good dreams.  It had happened a few times and the man really hoped it would happen tonight.

            “Good night, kiddo,” he whispered, “and I promise this will be taken care of before you go back to school.”

            Softly closing the door, the millionaire went to his own room, climbed into bed and promptly fell asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

            Both of his charges had, it seemed, slept peacefully through the night and Alfred was relieved.  Humming as he prepared breakfast, the butler smiled as the image of a kneeling Batman comforting a young Dick Grayson appeared in his head.

            “Good morning, Master Bruce,” Alfred stated when he heard movement behind him.

            “Oh, um, hi, Alfred.”

            Raising his eyebrows in surprise, the butler turned around.  Dick was downstairs before Bruce?!

            “Um, my alarm didn’t go off and it’s almost seven-thirty.  I don’t have time for breakfast; I’m going to get in trouble.”

            “You have the day off, young sir, with Master Bruce’s permission.  Three days of rest will be good for you.”

            “But I can’t miss Fridays!  Those are teacher meeting days and Mr. Jerkens is gone until lunch!  It’s the best day of the week!”

            “Master Dick, today you need to rest.  Everything will be taken care of before you return to school on Monday.”

            Meanwhile, in the Batcave, Batman was pacing in frustration.  The man had a substitute today; the woman had told him about the in-service meetings and that all teachers would be gone until classes resumed in the afternoon.

            “I’ll just have to meet him after school,” the hero grumbled, annoyed that the school was disrupting his perfect plan.

            The Caped Crusader, after two hours of deep sleep and then three hours of restless half-sleeping, had returned to the Batcave and prepared to go meet Mr. Jerkens.  He had a speech ready and knew exactly what tone he was going to use for each word.  But, he also didn’t really care about the speech.  Maybe he would beat now and ask questions later.

            When he had stalked into the man’s classroom, however, he had been greeted by the sweet old lady who substituted in Dick’s class every Friday morning.  Batman had been supremely frustrated but had managed to be polite to the woman.

            And now, here he was, impatiently waiting for almost six hours to pass so he could talk to the man who was secretly assaulting an innocent child.  As if the nine-year-old hadn’t had enough trauma in his life already.

            Batman also needed to find out the identity of the kid who had turned Dick’s legs into the color of plum pudding.  He didn’t know how he was going to do that.  Yet.  His only idea right now was following his ward around school but that would embarrass the boy.

            Maybe not, if he went as Batman on Monday.  He could talk the principal into letting him ‘test’ the security equipment.  While reviewing the school’s cameras, if there were any, he could add some Bat-cameras.  A slight grin of satisfaction swept across his face.  This afternoon was going to be interesting and Monday was going to be productive.

* * *

**Gotham Elementary – three o’clock:**

            The bell to signal the end of the school day had just rung.  Batman was across the street, leaning against the front end of the Batmobile and waiting for the mob of kids to dissipate.  He watched as the little kindergartners were walked to the parent pick-up area, saw a gaggle of sixth grade girls giggle about something that was probably nonsensical and noticed several teachers ushering the kids away from campus.  Was one of them…

            “Mr. Jerkins!”

            A tall, very muscular man walked out of the front entrance of the school.  He smiled at the boy who had just called to him and waved to a group of younger boys who were running towards him.

            By Batman’s estimation, the man was about six feet, seven inches and around two hundred and sixty pounds.  There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him; it was pure muscle.  The Caped Crusader, at six feet three inches, came in at a much leaner but still solid two hundred twenty-seven pounds.  Dick was right – Batman, in stature, was no match for Mr. Jerkens.

            Batman, however, had years of fighting experience on his side.  The teacher looked young, maybe twenty-six, and didn’t move like a man who knew how to fight.  And why, Batman wondered as he watched the man interact with a plethora of kids who were now jumping excitedly around him, was Dick being treated so differently?

            Mr. Jerkens didn’t look the least bit like a frightening bully.  He had a genuine smile on his face and was now crouching in front of the kids and doing some sort of magic trick.  Confusion raced through the mind of the Caped Crusader.  Batman trusted Dick, implicitly, but this Mr. Jerkens didn’t look at all like the monster his boy had described yesterday.

            Then, from the back of the school, a dark-haired man stalked toward the teacher parking lot.  His build was nearly the same as Mr. Jerkens, who was standing and shaking a parent’s hand.  But the stranger walked with a confident swagger, his large hands clenched into fists by his sides and a dark frown on his face.  It was obvious to Batman that this man knew his way around a boxing ring, or something similar.

            The man was unlocking a very used but very shiny ruby-red pickup truck when Batman suddenly appeared beside him.  He instantly dropped his keys and jumped into a fighting stance.  Batman stepped closer, invading the stranger’s personal space.

            “What do you teach?” he snarled.

            “None of your business,” the man snarled back.

            “It is when one of your students is being assaulted,” Batman retorted furiously.

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m just the _janitor_ ,” the man spat angrily.

            “Name,” the Caped Crusader demanded.

            “None of your business,” the muscular man repeated.  “Should we do this here or behind the school where you won’t be humiliated?”

            “I will give you one more chance.  _NAME_!”

            The last word thundered around the parking lot and the chattering around them stopped.  Batman knew that everyone was now watching and that he would have to choose his actions carefully.

            The silence grew as the men glared at each other.  Batman was four inches shorter and he hated having to look up at the man.  No wonder nine-year-old Dick, standing a mere four feet and weighing just under fifty pounds, was terrified of this man.

            “Marty!  Marty Jerkins, what do you think you are doing?!”

            The loud voice came from behind Batman, in the direction of the school.  The man in front of the Caped Crusader growled but dropped his hands, which had been up defensively ever since Batman had appeared.  He straightened up and the hero immediately noticed the name tag on the man’s uniform – Marty Jerkins.

            “So it’s with an ‘i’ instead of an ‘e’,” the hero murmured.  No wonder the Bat-computer hadn’t been able to give him more information.  He had input “Jerkens” not “Jerkins”.

            A tall but skinny man appeared from Batman’s right, his face full of fury.

            “First of all, what are you doing here, Batman?  Second, why do you two look like you’re about to fight?  And finally, why aren’t you in the computer lab doing your _job_?!”

            Marty flinched before turning his gaze to the newly-arrived man.

            “He’s accusing me of something I didn’t do,” Marty stated, glancing at Batman then immediately looking back at his boss.

            “Kindly step away from my employee, _sir_ , and tell me what you are doing here!”

            Batman growled and moved his Bat-glare from Marty’s face to that of the man he recognized as the principal.

            “I have reliable information that a Mr. Jerkins is assaulting one of your students.”

            The principal, Sam Mercer, burst into loud laughter and Marty sneered at Batman condescendingly.

            “Marty wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Sam declared.  “He looks and acts tough but he would never assault anyone, especially not a child!”

            “How do you know?” the Caped Crusader growled again.

            “Because if he does even one tiny thing wrong, he goes back to jail!  He’s got an anklet that tracks all of his movements and his watch has a camera!”

            “Something is going on at this school!” Batman shouted.  “One of your students has been repeatedly assaulted and nobody is doing anything about it!  Who at this school is capable of such a thing and why hasn’t he been fired?!”

            “Who is this alleged victim?” the principal inquired, his tone full of disbelief.  “Nothing like that would ever happen at my school.  Marty, dismissed.”

            The muscular man left and the skinny principal stared at Batman for several seconds.

            “Why don’t you come to my office and we can discuss this privately.”

            The Caped Crusader nodded brusquely and followed the man into the building.

            “As you can see, we have a very bright…”

            “I don’t need the tour and speech,” Batman interrupted.  “Just get to your office.”

            Shaking his head, Sam lengthened his strides and they made it to his office in less than three minutes.

            “Please, Batman, have a seat.”

            Sam motioned to a large chair in front of an even larger desk.  Then he strode around the desk and sat in his leather chair.  Rocking back and forth, he steepled his fingers together and stared at Batman quizzically.

            “Now, who is this alleged victim?”

            “That is information that you don’t need to know until I figure this out.”

            “Come now, Batman, are you saying that I’m a suspect?” Sam asked incredulously.

            “Everyone is a suspect for now.”

            “Well, what evidence do you have?”

            Bruce had been smart enough to take pictures of Dick’s torso – both front and back – and his arms without showing any identifying features.  Batman pulled them out of his utility belt and tossed them onto the principal’s desk.

            Sam picked them up one by one and carefully examined each of them.  Then he rolled his eyes and chuckled.

            “I would know this body anywhere,” he declared.  “Did little Dick Grayson tell you that a teacher was assaulting him, or perhaps that one of the kids did this?”

            Batman was shocked but didn’t allow his expression to show it.  How did the man know it was Dick and why did he sound so apathetic?!

            “Here’s the situation.  Dick Grayson, in case you don’t know this, lost his parents in a circus accident.  He’s now the ward of millionaire Bruce Wayne.  I’ve never seen such an angry child, Batman.  He constantly picks fights with other kids and, since he’s so small, loses a lot.  These bruises are not from an unprovoked attack on an innocent child.  He’s a bully, Batman, a small but strong bully who can’t protect himself but starts fights anyway.”

            Batman’s mind was reeling.  He trusted Dick but the principal sounded very convincing.  And Batman could see, in his mind, an image of a young, angry Bruce Wayne whose face then morphed into the youthful features of Dick Grayson.

            “You should talk to the boy again, Batman, and confront him with this information.  He’ll try to lie his way out of it, I’m sure, but the kid wears his emotions on his sleeve.  You’ll see what I’m talking about if you just start with this information.”

            “Yes, Mr. Mercer, we _will_ see.  Thank you for taking the time to talk to me.”

            The words were low but full of anger.  Abruptly, the Caped Crusader stood up and exited the office.  As he strode to the Batmobile, he couldn’t help but hear the principal’s accusation:

            “He’s a bully, Batman…”

* * *

**Two hours later:**

            Dick was picking at his dinner and Bruce was staring at him.  He didn’t know how to start the conversation but knew he needed to do it soon.  Sam Mercer’s statements had been reverberating around Batman’s head since he had left the school and he needed answers.

            “He told you I was lying, didn’t he?” Dick suddenly asked quietly.  “He said I’m the one who starts fights and nobody else would ever do anything like _this_ , right?  I’m the troublemaker, the bully, that’s what he said, isn’t it?”

            Bruce could hear the thick emotion in his ward’s voice.  He could also see the shaking hands and trembling bottom lip of the nine-year-old.

            “ _Didn’t he_?!” Dick shouted, startling Bruce.

            “Yes.”

            “And you believe him, don’t you?  Nobody would ever believe some circus freak who can’t control his anger.  Why should you?  I’ve only been here for three months, you hardly know anything about me.”

            “Dick, I trust you.  But Mr. Mercer was very convincing.  I want to believe you but I just…”

            “Mr. _Mercer_ told you this?!” Dick yelled, disbelief clearly woven through the words.  Shoving his chair away from the table, the boy stood up and threw his arms in the air.

            “I thought it was only my teacher but he’s got the principal in on it, too?!  Well, of course you have to believe the principal.  He would never lie!  Fine, Bruce, I’ll take the punishment.  I just won’t say anything anymore and let everyone do whatever they want to me.  If Mr. Mercer says I’m the bully then it has to be true.  I’m done, may I be excused?”

            The question was snarled and Bruce was in shock.  He didn’t know what to think anymore, everything was contradictory and nothing made any sense.  Why would the principal lie about something like this but, conversely, why would _Dick_ lie?

            “No, Dick, we need to figure this out,” Bruce replied.  “Sit down.”

            The boy didn’t move so Bruce sharply repeated the command.

            Dick flopped onto his chair and swept a hand across his still-bruised cheek.  There was no way Bruce was going to believe him.  And now he was going to be sent to the detention center, where they had wanted him to go in the first place.  Somehow, he had screwed everything up.  If he hadn’t received the black eye, none of this would have happened.  Next time he would duck or try to block or something.  But, there wouldn’t be a next time so he tossed the image away.

            “I need the truth, kiddo,” the man stated quietly.

            “I told you the truth!” the boy declared, frustration clearly evident in his tone.  “But it doesn’t matter, just send me away.  According to Mr. Jerkins I deserve the detention center so just…”

            Dick couldn’t finish.  A knot filled his throat and a heavy ball of despair made his breath catch in his chest.

            “Why would I send you to the detention center, Dick?” Bruce asked, his tone full of surprise.

            “Because I’m a bully, right?” the nine-year-old whispered as tears began coursing down his cheeks.  “Just get it over with, send me tonight.  I can’t stay when you look like that.”

            “Like what, kiddo?”

            “Disappointed.”

            “Dick, I’m not…I don’t know…help me out here.”

            “How?!  How am I supposed to help you when I’ve told you everything but you don’t know whether or not to believe me?!  Did you even _talk_ to Mr. Jerkins?!”

            “Which one?”

            “Which…?  Oh, you mean the criminal guy.  No, not him.  His brother, the _nice_ one who loves all the kids and wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt anybody.  The one who is always smiling and does magic tricks and is so _friendly_ and doesn’t even look dangerous.  Yeah, that guy.”

            “No, I didn’t think…”

            “Of course you didn’t think to talk to him, he’s nice to everybody.  _EXCEPT ME_!” Dick interrupted.  The last two words were shouted and caused Alfred to rush into the room.

            “Master Dick, Master Bruce!”

            “Sorry, Alfred, but I guess this is goodbye,” Dick stated as he glanced at the butler before dropping his eyes to the ground.

            “Goodbye…?”

            Bruce sighed.  “No, Dick, I’m not sending you away.  I’ll talk to the other guy.”

            “Not as Batman,” Dick retorted.  “Mr. Mercer knows that Batman now knows the ‘truth’ about Dick Grayson.  The little circus freak who turned into a bully and loses fights all the time because he’s so small.”

            Dick’s tone was bitter now and Alfred was staring at Bruce in disbelief.

            The silence was overwhelming and awkward.  Dick’s head was in his hands and Bruce had unconsciously folded his arms across his chest.

            Alfred quietly walked to Bruce’s side and leaned down.

            “Bat-cameras might help this situation, sir,” he whispered in the man’s ear.

            With a curt nod, Bruce stood up.  Dick didn’t acknowledge the movement at all.  The man roughly ran a hand through his own hair, completely frustrated with the situation.

            “I’m going downstairs, kiddo, if you want to join me.”

            Dick knew that ‘downstairs’ meant the Batcave but he wasn’t going to go anywhere with anyone right now.  He still didn’t move so Bruce sighed and left the dining room, headed for his study.

            “Master Dick,” Alfred began but the boy abruptly stood up and walked away.

            With a quiet sigh of his own, the butler began clearing the table.  He could hear Dick stomping up the stairs and hoped that the boy was going to lie down.  It was obvious that the nine-year-old needed to rest.

            Dick, however, had other ideas.  He didn’t want to see the disappointment on Bruce’s face when the man dropped him off at the detention center.  Therefore, he was going to leave before that could happen.

            He walked into his room and grabbed his backpack off the floor.  The school books and notes and pencil box were tossed out, landing haphazardly on the desk and ground.  Clothes replaced the school items; he was able to stuff two pairs of jeans and three shirts in before zipping it up.

            Swinging the bag over his right shoulder, Dick carefully peeked out the door.  Nobody was around – he could hear Alfred humming in the kitchen – so he crept down the stairs.  He made it to the door but realized that the butler would hear it open and close.  Moving into the living room, he quietly opened the French doors that led to the garden.  With one last glance behind him, Dick strode outside and ran toward the back gate.  It opened into a large forest; Bruce wouldn’t be able to find him for a while, if at all.

            In the Batcave, Batman noticed a small movement from the Bat-camera near the south side of Wayne Manor.  He realized that the French doors were open, which was very unusual since the night air was calm.  Then there was another movement: a small body racing across the lawn toward the back gate.  Dick was about to get himself lost in the gigantic forest that stretched six square miles beyond the gates of the Manor.

            Batman flew to the Batmobile and roared out through the tunnel.  He wouldn’t be able to maneuver the vehicle through the dense trees, but at least he would get to the forest before Dick had a chance to vanish into the shadows.

* * *

            Dick heard the roar of the Batmobile as he entered the edge of the forest.  He knew it was too big to traverse the trees but he also knew that Batman was fast.  A quick decision was made and the boy shrugged off his backpack as he began sprinting.  One set of clothing would have to do, even though his jeans and sweatshirt would wear out quickly in the upcoming winter.  But he was faster without the backpack and speed was more important right now.

            The trees became unfamiliar – he had never been this far into the forest.  However, he could hear Batman crashing through the shrubbery so he took off in the opposite direction.  Dick knew he could dart through small spaces that the larger Batman would have to go around, which gave him a slight advantage.  But Batman had longer strides and could easily jump over fallen trees that Dick would have to climb over, which negated the boy’s advantage. 

            “ _Dick, don’t do this!  We can work this out!_ ”

            Ignoring the words and slightly frantic tone of voice, Dick vaulted over a small log and somehow increased his speed.  He was too much trouble for Bruce, the man shouldn’t have to be trying to decide if the principal of a school was lying.  Mr. Jerkins was right, Dick Grayson was a troublemaker and didn’t belong there.  Or anywhere, for that matter.  Everyone would be better off without him.

            The thoughts rumbling around in his mind distracted him and the nine-year-old tripped over a small boulder.  The stumble sent him tumbling to the ground and his world went dark.

* * *

            Batman could hear, just barely, the swishing of leaves that was the result of a small pair of shoes dashing through them.  Dick was fast but he was also small.  The Caped Crusader was confident that he would soon catch up to the boy.  But, just in case…

            “ _Dick, don’t do this!  We can work this out!_ ”

            The man was surprised at the sound of his voice.  He sounded almost…panicked?  But Batman never panicked, Batman was always confident and proud and emotionless.  Bruce Wayne, however, was frantic.  Dick was going to be lost, gone forever, all because Batman didn’t know who to believe.

            A quiet ‘thud’ echoed in front of him and Batman sped up.  He leapt over a boulder and almost landed on a small silhouette lying motionless on the ground.  Whipping his Bat-flashlight out of his utility belt, the hero shined it on the limp form.  There was blood near his head but Batman could tell that it was a superficial wound.

            Sighing in both relief and consternation, the Caped Crusader replaced the Bat-flashlight in his utility belt, bent down and scooped up his young ward.  Somehow the boy had made it two and a half miles into the forest in just under ten minutes.  That was impressive, even to Batman.

            “Let’s go home, kiddo.  I’ll figure this out, I promise.  Batman always keeps his promises.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has left comments and kudos!

**The next day:**

            It started out like any other Saturday.  Bruce was already at the table, reading the newspaper, by the time Dick came downstairs.  This time, however, the man put the paper down and motioned to the boy.  The nine-year-old obediently went to the chair by his guardian and slowly sat down.

            “I watched the videos from every single school security camera last night.”

            “You can do that?!” Dick exclaimed, thoroughly impressed and anxiously excited.  Video tapes don’t lie so the boy knew he was about to be exonerated.

            “I do have some…special…machines,” Bruce replied with a slight grin which immediately disappeared.  “Anyway, the evidence on the tape is not too good for you.  Every time there’s a fight, you’re in the middle of it.  I don’t know if you start it,” the man’s voice hardened, “but you’re always there.”

            Dick’s mouth dropped open in shock.  He had no idea how this was possible.  The only fight he’d been in was the one with whats-his-name after PE, and that wasn’t even a fight!

            “I…Bruce, that’s not possible!  I’ve never…you really think…”

            “The evidence is irrefutable.  Security tapes don’t lie, Dick.”

            “I…don’t know what to say.”

            “How about if you tell me the truth?!” the man shouted.

            The boy flinched and slumped in his chair.

            “I already did,” he whispered sadly.  “But it doesn’t matter anymore.  I’ve never fought anyone but I can’t prove it so just punish me now.  Whatever you’re going to do, I can take it.  I’ve been through worse.”

            “What do you think I’m going to do?” Bruce asked, fury evident in his tone.

            “I don’t know.  I’m pretty sure you won’t beat me up but maybe that’s what you think I deserve.”

            Tears were sliding down the nine-year-old’s cheeks and he wasn’t doing anything to stop them.  He had no control over what was about to happen, and that scared him, but he would just have to deal with it.  There was no other choice.

            “Dick, I would never hit you,” Bruce stated and this time his tone was full of surprise.

            “Well, everyone else does so I’m used to it.  Oh, wait, everyone does because I bully them into it.”

            The last sentence was full of sarcasm and accompanied by a hand swiping the tears off his young face.

            “I can’t believe you’re going to stick with that story.  After all the evidence I saw on the tapes, you’re still going to tell me that you’re the innocent one in all of this?!”

            “Just get it over with,” Dick shouted.  “Whatever it is you’re going to do, just do it!”

            The loud sound caused Alfred to rush into the room, just as he had yesterday.

            “Master Bruce!” he exclaimed and the man glanced at him before turning his gaze back to Dick.

            “Master Dick?” the butler asked quietly.

            “It’s over, Alfred.  Nobody will ever believe me.”

            Alfred stared at the boy in shock before giving his older charge a slight glare.

            “Have you tried the… _other_ …cameras, sir?”

            “I don’t have any there yet, Alfred,” Bruce growled.  “But the school’s security tapes show me everything I need to know.”

            “Well, sir, before you do something you’ll regret, maybe you should _add_ some at the school.  Perhaps their security tapes have a way of being altered?”

            “I doubt it.  Who would have the technology to do that?  Besides me, of course.”

            Turning back toward the kitchen, Alfred stated coldly, “I hope you know what you’re doing, _Master Bruce_.”

            Bruce sighed then glared at Dick.  “What do you think I should do?”

            “To punish me?  I don’t know, you’re the adult,” the boy replied snidely.

            “Is that the kind of attitude you display at school, young man?” Bruce growled again.

            “No, but you won’t believe that.  You think I’m some kind of monster who can’t control himself.  Maybe you _should_ just beat me to a pulp.”

            Shaking his head in exasperation, the man stated, “I already said that I would never hit you.”

            “Well,” the nine-year-old stated quietly, “you’re beating me up inside so why not let it show on the outside?”

            Bruce was surprised again.  That was a deep thought, something he would never expect from a child.

            “In your room for today, Dick.  I’ll figure something out and let you know later.”

            Nodding his head, the boy stood up and started toward the stairs.

            “Breakfast first,” the man commanded but Dick shook his head and raced away.

            This time it was Bruce who slumped in his chair.  Maybe he _should_ put some Bat-cameras around the school.  But, now that he knew the truth, Dick probably wouldn’t be starting fights anymore.  For a little while, at least.

            “What will you lose if you put up those Bat-cameras, sir?” Alfred’s soft voice interrupted his thoughts.  “Nothing.  But if you don’t and later learn that you were wrong?  You have a lot to lose then, sir.  The trust of a child who is hurting both physically and emotionally, the light that he brings to this house, his happiness…a _lot_ , Master Bruce.”

            The butler began clearing the table and Bruce stood up.  Alfred was right; putting Bat-cameras around the school wouldn’t hurt anything.

* * *

**Monday morning – Gotham Elementary**

            Dick arrived early to school, just as his teacher had commanded.  His eyes stayed on the floor and his heart was beating rapidly.  What was going to happen this time?

            “You know why you’re here?” Mr. Jerkins snarled as the boy closed the door.

            Nodding, Dick walked over to the teacher’s desk and placed his backpack on the floor.

            “How?” he whispered bravely.

            “How what?” the man growled.

            “How did you alter the tapes?  I’m not a bully!”

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            Mr. Jerkins folded his arms across his chest and frowned at the small child in front of him.  The boy was shaking and sniffling and his hands were clenched into fists.

            “I’m going to explain your anger and disobedience to your guardian tomorrow.  He won’t want you anymore.”

            “Then why give me all those notes praising my behavior and work?”

            “Why would I want Bruce Wayne to know anything about our little conferences?  I have to admit that you’re intelligent and your apparent inability to remain engaged doesn’t affect your work or anyone around you.  Therefore, the notes.”

            “What are you going to…to do?” Dick whispered, fear evident in his quiet voice.

            “Nothing, for today.  Apparently your guardian now knows that you fight everyone in sight so he’s going to think that you’ll stop since he knows the ‘truth’.  But after I talk to him tomorrow afternoon, he’ll toss you out of his house.  Nobody else will want a circus freak so you’ll either be on the streets or in the detention center.  Either way, the punishment will fit the crime.”

            “But I haven’t done anything wrong!” Dick shouted as he lifted his head.  Glaring into the surprised eyes of his teacher, the boy yelled, “I come to school, I stay quiet about you, I let kids do whatever they want to me.  What have I done that’s even a little bit wrong?!”

            “First of all,” Mr. Jerkins snarled, “shut up.  Second, you’re here.  _That’s_ what you’ve done wrong.  You should have stayed with the stupid circus when your parents died but I guess they didn’t want you either!”

            “You shut up!” Dick snarled back and was rewarded with a large hand smacking him across the right side of his face.

            The momentum shoved him sideways and he hit the left side of his head on a desk.  Blood spurted from the wound and the man tossed a box of tissues at Dick.

            “Clean yourself up then go to the principal’s office.  Poor Johnny almost got beat up today because little Dick got mad.”

            Tears mingled with the blood but the nine-year-old grabbed some tissues and pushed them hard against his head.  He could feel his right cheek swelling and soon he couldn’t see out of his right eye.

            “Go!” the man suddenly demanded.

            Scrambling to his feet, Dick grabbed his backpack and raced out the door.  In the right-hand corner of the ceiling in the classroom, a small Bat-camera sent the video of the altercation back to the Batcave, where the Bat-camera receiver machine beeped loudly.

* * *

            Bruce Wayne, unfortunately, had a morning full of meetings but was able to return to the Manor for lunch.  The first place he went was the Batcave and he immediately noticed the red dot blinking on the Bat-camera receiver machine.  Quickly striding over, he pressed rewind and then, with trepidation in his eyes, played the tape.

            Batman heard every word, saw every action and when it was over he punched the table in frustration.  He had been wrong.  Somehow somebody had altered the school tapes but he had believed them over the word of the boy who had never lied to him.  Dick had hidden some injuries, yes, but had never outright lied to his guardian.

            Racing back to his Bat-pole, Batman flew up to the Manor and ran to the kitchen.

            “Is Dick home?!” he yelled somewhat breathlessly when he saw Alfred near the stove.

            “No, Master Bruce, why would he be here?  School doesn’t end for three more hours.”

            “I was wrong, Alfred,” Bruce whispered in despair.  “There is now a Bat-camera in Dick’s classroom and what I saw…”

            He trailed off as the entire video replayed in his mind.  The fear that was followed by defiance, the blood and tears, the eye that had already swollen shut, the threats about being thrown out and nobody wanting the boy.

            “It was that bad, sir?” Alfred inquired quietly.

            “Worse,” Bruce responded, the word full of anguish.  “He’s completely innocent, Alfred, but I blamed him!  He’s always been honest with us but I didn’t care.  The evidence against him was perfect but it was wrong!  And he was just going to accept whatever punishment I decided to give him!  What was I thinking?!”

            “You weren’t, _sir_ ,” the faithful butler remarked angrily.  “Forgive me if I’m crossing boundaries, but the Bat-cameras should have been placed before you just accused him of everything.”

            “You’re right,” the younger man agreed quietly.  “He’s never going to trust me again.  I’m an idiot, Alfred.”

            “Yes, Master Bruce, you are,” Alfred stated before opening the oven to check the chicken he was roasting for dinner.  “You have,” the butler glanced at his watch, “a little over two and a half hours to figure out how to fix this.  Lunch is on the table.”

            The last sentence was obviously a dismissal and Bruce, even though he was supposed to be the one in charge, obeyed his butler and left the kitchen.

* * *

**Monday afternoon:**

            Dick silently opened the front door and peeked his head through.  Nobody was around so he slid through the opening and sprinted up the stairs.  His hair was full of dried blood and the right side of his face was numb but he wasn’t going to let anybody see it.

            Bruce, however, was already in Dick’s room.  The boy shoved the door open and dropped his backpack on the floor.  He was on his way to the bathroom when he heard a quiet noise, like someone clearing their throat.

            The nine-year-old glanced to his left and noticed a figure sitting in the shadows.  Dropping his head, Dick faced the silhouette and waited for the lecture he was sure was coming.

            “I saw the whole thing,” Bruce stated quietly, his tone tinged with shame.  “I put a Bat-camera,” that word was whispered, “in your classroom.  I saw…everything.”

            The man choked on the last word and the boy crumpled to the ground.  Was ‘everything’ actually _everything_?  Had Bruce been able to hear Dick yelling at a teacher?  His guardian was probably upset about that.  Dick hadn’t been punished yet but his body tensed in anticipation.  Bruce was disappointed, of that Dick was positive.

            “I shouldn’t have yelled at him,” the boy declared.  “I’ll apologize tomorrow.”

            “What?!” Bruce shouted in disbelief.

            Lifting his head, Dick stated, “I’m sorry for yelling.  I shouldn’t disrespect a teacher like that.  I…you’ll probably hear about it at teacher conference tomorrow.  Sorry.”

            The last word was full of sadness and Bruce’s heart constricted in pain.  The child, after all of the trauma in his young life, shouldn’t have to apologize.  But here he was, expressing regret for yelling at someone who had then slapped him so hard that the boy’s face looked like a plum speckled with small bits of blueberries.  Not to mention the eye that wouldn’t open and the dried river of blood that was matting his hair.

            “It’s not your fault, kiddo.  I saw what he did…what he _said_.  I will be suing him and Batman will be talking to him.  The one apologizing should be me.  The school’s security videos, somehow, were compromised.  But I believed what I thought was hard evidence over the word of a boy who has never lied to me.  I’m sorry, Dick.”

            “It doesn’t matter now.  Mr. Mercer is going to kick me out of the school because I ‘fought’ with Johnny.  The only other place is…”

            “The detention center,” Bruce finished quietly.  He received a small nod and felt anger begin to rise in his chest.

            “It’s not going to happen, kiddo.  Batman has proof now, too.  And Bat-camera videos are impossible to alter.  Commissioner Gordon knows it and tonight he will be watching the video from this morning.”

            “You’re going to show other people?!” Dick gasped, despair filling his voice.

            “It’s proof of criminal activity!  Of course I’m going to show the commissioner!  This guy is a criminal who needs to go to jail.”

            “Something’s going to happen, Bruce, if you do that.  Mr. Jerkins has a brother.  If Mr. Jerkins the teacher goes to jail, then Mr. Jerkins the janitor will do something.”

            Dick’s tone was full of fear and Bruce could hear the warning that outlined the words.

            “The janitor can’t do that.  He has an anklet and a camera and will go straight back to the State Pen if he does anything wrong.”

            “And who do you think has the key to the anklet and the ability to remove the watch with the camera?”

            The dark-blue eyes of Bruce Wayne widened as the statement registered.

            “Yep,” Dick nodded, supplying the obvious answer, “Mr. Mercer.  And who do you think will take the blame for sending one of the best teachers in the school off to jail?  It won’t be Batman, Bruce, I can tell you that.”

            “But it will be Batman’s fault that he’s arrested!” Bruce protested.

            “True, but who started the process?  Who told somebody about the bruises and other injuries?  Again, it wasn’t Batman.”

            “Nothing is going to happen, kiddo,” the man stated confidently.

            “How can you be sure?” the boy replied timidly.

            Silence reigned, but only for a few moments.

            “You just won’t go to school.  I’ll get you a tutor.  You’re ahead in all the subjects anyway.  Perfect solution.”

            Dick, still sitting on the ground, slowly stood up.

            “I, uh, need to take care of this.”

            The nine-year-old motioned to his head, which was darker than normal because of the dried blood.  Bruce nodded and Dick turned toward the bathroom.  Suddenly the man was beside him, startling the boy.

            “I’ll help,” Bruce stated.

            “Um, no thanks,” Dick replied.  He walked into the bathroom and closed the door.

            The man was surprised but quickly realized why his offer hadn’t been accepted.  His ward didn’t trust him anymore, maybe never would again.  Running a hand through his hair, Bruce turned away and strode out the door.  Dick was going to need ice for that eye.

* * *

**Twenty minutes later:**

            Dick still hadn’t come down for dinner.  Alfred had called him seven minutes ago and Bruce was concerned.  The boy wouldn’t try to run again.  Not after the man had apologized and, he thought, allayed the child’s fears of repercussions.

            “Perhaps I should take a tray up, Master Bruce?”

            “What?  Oh, yes, put it on a tray.  I’ll take it up, though.”

            “As you wish, sir.”

            Alfred retrieved a tray from the kitchen and placed Dick’s dinner on it.  He picked it up and handed it to Bruce, who left the dining room and began climbing the stairs.  Thirty seconds later he was at Dick’s door, knocking hesitantly.  There was no answer, so the man knocked a little louder.

            “Come in.”

            The words were so quiet that Bruce almost didn’t hear them.  He opened the door and walked inside.  Dick was sitting on the bed, his face pale and a towel pushed against the left side of his head.  Several other towels, red instead of their usual white, surrounded him.

            “I can’t get it to stop,” the boy murmured.  “I don’t know how it started bleeding again but no matter what I do it won’t stop.”

            There was a tinge of panic in Dick’s trembling voice.  Bruce dropped the tray and was instantly by the child’s side.

            “Let me look, kiddo.”

            Wide, light-blue eyes stared at him and Bruce winced inside.  They weren’t full of trust, it looked more like betrayal and suspicion.

            “Please?”

            Slowly, Dick took the towel off his head.  The blood was a stream, not just a dribble, and Bruce briefly thought about taking him to the hospital.  But Alfred had blood in the Batcave; hopefully they had Dick’s type.

            “I’m…sleepy, Bruce.  Isn’t that, um, bad?”

            “Why didn’t you call me up, or answer Alfred when he called you for dinner?  Either one of us could have helped you.”

            Dick shrugged as his light-blue eyes glazed over.  Scooping his ward up, Bruce raced down the stairs and yelled for Alfred.  The butler immediately came out of the kitchen and, when he saw the situation, hurried to the service elevator.  Bruce joined him and they descended to the Batcave.  It felt like much longer than the seventeen seconds it actually took and both men were relieved when the door slowly slid open.

            “Blood type, sir?”

            “I don’t know but we have O negative, right?”

            “Not very much, sir.  It might be enough, though, since his body is so small.”

            The men efficiently set everything up and soon a thin stream of blood was gliding into Dick’s body.  Bruce pressed Bat-gauze against the wound and it stopped bleeding less than a minute later.  Alfred immediately stitched the injury and now they had to wait.

            The glazed, light-blue circles had disappeared completely on the way to the Batcave.  Dick’s pale face made the new bruise stand out prominently and even the older one seemed darker than it was.

            But the boy’s body was strong and two minutes later he opened his eyes.  He tried to sit up but both men gently held him in place.  Dick stared up at them in confusion and then a little bit of fear.  Why was he so tired and why were they forcing him to remain still?

            “Your head wound caused you to lose a lot of blood,” Bruce stated when he saw the emotions.  “We’re in the Batcave and you’re receiving a blood transfusion.”

            “Okay,” Dick whispered before closing his eyes again.

            Alfred went to the Bat-freezer and returned with a small pack of Bat-ice.  Bruce had a Bat-towel and was cleaning the boy’s head.

            “My fault, Alfred.”

            “Yes, it is, Master Bruce,” Alfred agreed as he placed the Bat-ice on Dick’s swollen eye.  “Also, I’m sure I have crossed many boundaries these last two days but they are lines that I deemed necessary to traverse.”

            With a small wave of his hand, Bruce dismissed the comment.  His butler had no need to apologize and both men knew it.

            “I’m going to change and take the tape from the Bat-camera to Commissioner Gordon.  Tomorrow morning, Batman will pay a visit to Mr. Jerkins and Bruce Wayne will talk to him at teacher conference in the afternoon.”

            Bruce paused for a moment and then continued, “Take good care of him, Alfred.”

            “Just as I always do you, sir,” the butler replied with a soft smile.


End file.
